


RE: Reconditioning

by DropTheBeet



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Altered Mental States, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Mental Anguish, Mental Breakdown, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Build, Slow Burn, TBH WHAT TAGS U EXPECT WITH WIDOWMAKER EH
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-09
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 16:43:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7722163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DropTheBeet/pseuds/DropTheBeet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They are called Crocs. They are comfortable. They're retro." </p><p>Tracer and Widowmaker banter, bit of a break down. Lets see if our little spider is fixable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Keep Calm and Knock 'Em Out

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in many, many years. So be gentle in your suggestions thank you. Anything like continuity errors, or OOC depictions would be handy to know. I have no beta reader, as I have been out the game too long. So anyone interested in being one feel free to let me know.
> 
> I am planning on this being a lot longer, I am hoping. So any support would help greatly in ensuring that can happen! I will add tags as I go, as I tend to add in more than I plan to. Just go with the flow. Idk. Hope you enjoy the banter! It's the main reason I started this...

Widowmaker stared down the barrel at her target, as his head edged out from behind the car; Exhale. Her gun cracked. Her lips slowly stretch into a smirk as her target crumples to the ground.

 

She lowers her weapon, “All clear.” 

 

Reaper’s gravelly tones crackled through her earpiece. “Affirmative, moving in.”

 

Her grappling hook glides through the night sky, hooking around a chimney with a soft clink.  _ These Brits and their nostalgia, utterly unnecessary _ , Widowmaker thought to herself as she looped her hand around the rope and swung silently across the rooftops. At least she was, until a flash of blue and a snap from above her.  _ Merde.  _

 

Twisting in mid-air, Widowmaker spotted the swiftly approaching cobblestones. Before she had time to plan, another bright blue light and a heavy weight winding her as she was launched off-course. A window shattered around her, a flash of blue above her as she lands on carpet covered in glass and splinters of wood from the window frame. She rolls onto the balls of her feet, one knee to her chest and one hand to the floor: Poised to strike. But where was-

 

“Thanks for dropping in, love!” That chuckle, Widowmaker looks up to see Tracer standing with Widow’s Kiss twirling in her hand. Widowmaker snarls, launching at the brunette. Tracers eyes widen as a blue hand nears her shoulder.

 

“Woops”, Widowmaker’s gun drops out the window behind her. Widowmaker’s hand closes on Tracer’s shoulder as she swings her round and into a wall. Tracer still has a grin plastered on her face, “Well now look what you made me do!” 

 

Widowmaker’s fist slammed into the wall, only blue fading fading away where Tracer’s face had been. She spun around to see Tracer leaning against a wall, motioning towards Widowmaker’s feet. “How do you run around in those things anyway?”

 

Widowmaker twisted her body around, launching said foot towards Tracer’s stomach. The brunette ducked, catching the kick with her forearm before sweeping the floor beneath Widowmaker, causing her to tumble. She smoothly launched herself back up, darting forward and winding the giggle out of Tracer and pinning her to the floor. 

 

A smirk reached her blue lips, “Quite well, actually.” 

 

She reached back her arm, preparing to strike her helpless victim, when Tracer giggled and headbutted her. Caught off balance, she fell backwards as Tracer nimbly rolled off her. Stars scattered around the edges of her vision, blood slowly oozed from her lip in thick droplets to the gaudy carpeted floor. She focussed in on Tracer’s  _ hideous  _ white plastic clogs, before the brunette's cheerful face ducked into view. A mock pout jutting out her bottom lip. 

 

“Aw, you don’t want to play any more?”  _ I hate the British. _

 

Widowmaker threw herself forward, aiming to claw that smirk off, but only met blue light in the air. She felt a tap on her shoulder, spinning around with a snarl. Tracer was bouncing on her heels, giggling with her fists held in a loose boxer’s pose in front of her face. 

 

She had one eye closed, her grin deliberately crooked. She put on some odd accent, “Puddem up.”  _ What does that even mean? _

 

Widowmaker caught Tracer’s fist, swinging her over and flat on her back. She pressed her heel into Tracer’s sternum, further winding her. “Your clogs are hideous”, she hissed. Tracer grabbed Widowmaker’s shoes, gasping before rolling to one side. She pinned the taller woman beneath her, straddling her middle as she punched her face in quick blue-light-laced succession. 

 

“They are called  _ Crocs. _ ” Punch to the cheek. “They are  _ comfortable _ .” Widowmaker caught the next fist, tugging Tracer backwards and over her head. She rolled onto her feet, one of Tracer’s pistols in her hand. 

 

She leant down with a smirk, pressing the gun to the side of Tracer’s head. Tracer continued to look up defiantely into Widowmaker’s golden eyes. Widowmaker leaned close, squeezing Tracer’s face in her hard grip. The smell of her metallic blood breezing into the smaller woman’s face. “Any last words,  _ ma chérie _ ?” 

 

Tracer reached up, pressing her hand to Widowmaker’s shoulder. A smile spread across her lips. “They’re retro.” A loud beeping next to Widowmaker’s ear and a blue light fading where Tracer had been. Widowmaker ripped at her shoulder, throwing the pulse bomb forward as it exploded. She was thrown backwards against the wall, her ears ringing. 

 

She looks up, a large smoking hole in the wall showing rubble scattered down the stairs. The ringing lessens as she turns to see Tracer pressing her hand to her ear… To Widowmaker’s earpiece.  _ Merde.  _ Widowmaker growls, trying to get up and flinching at the distinct feeling of broken ribs where she had hit the wall. 

 

“Well, love”, the bright ringing tones of Tracer entered her consciousness, the room swaying around her. “Sounds like you failed”, the brunnette ducked into view. A joyous twinkle in her eye and false concern on her face. She patted Widowmaker’s shoulder, “better luck next time, eh?” 

 

Widowmaker scowled, her growl coming out as a snarl as pain spiked through her. Focus on breathing, the room swayed again as she braced her arms against the floor. The gaudy red print of the carpet swam in her vision. She couldn’t afford another lecture from Reaper, especially when it was again this insignificant bug that had managed to distract her. Excuses would be useless. 

 

Her vision focussed, ignoring her pain and the black spotting the edge of her vision she looked up at Tracer beginning to climb through the hole in the wall towards the stairs. She staggered up, her stance wide, trying to hide what was likely a fracture in her hip. She threw her arm out against the wall, trying not to show how heavily she leant against it. 

 

“Lena”, she screamed. Tracer spun around, looking Widowmaker up and down. She had a cold look on her face, before she slapped a grin on. 

 

“Yes, sweetums?”

 

Widowmaker felt like she was breathing through wool, she spat blood on the floor. Looking back up at Tracer, “I know who you are, Lena  _ Oxton _ .” Tracer’s expression didn’t change, she remained poised over the first step. “I know where your family are.” 

 

Tracer’s expression darkened. The grin fading into the shadows. Her voice was quiet, “Are you threatening them?”

 

Widowmaker’s face twisted into a dark excuse for a smile, triumphant. 

 

Tracer hardens, stepping back into the room. Her face flushed red. “Well, I don’t see how that’s fair”, she lets out a bark of a laugh, “seeing as you got there first on killing your family, huh  _ Amélie _ ?” 

 

“What?”

 

“You heard me”, Tracer snarled. 

 

“I have no family”, Widowmaker spat back, stumbling as she overbalanced. 

 

Tracer spluttered, walking towards Widowmaker and gesturing violently at her. “Well, no clearly! Seeing as you killed your own husband.”

 

Widowmaker fell to one knee, wheezing through the pain. One eye screwed closed. “Husband?”

 

“Gérard?” Tracer screamed down at the crumpled Widowmaker. “Oh yeah, I know all about that,  _ love. _ ”

 

Widowmaker’s breathing grew more laboured, she curled towards the floor pain spiking through her chest. The red carpet faded black, brown, red, brown, black; pulsing in her vision. She couldn’t hear anything but the whooshing in her ears. A beating drum. A tide scraping sand. The ticking of time. 

 

_ Gérard? Who is- Where is he? Where is he? I- he will find me. No he caused this, the pain won’t stop. He can’t stop this, only I… No. That’s not it. Gérard, where is he? It’s been so long. _

 

From far away, she felt a hand on her shoulder, a warmth on her face. A burning pressed inside her scalp. 

 

“Amélie?”

 

Widowmaker looks up at the face above her, brown hair fell softly around orange goggles. A rose pink mouth set in a concerned line.

 

“You alright, love?”

 

Widowmaker falls back, scrambling back against the wall. Her breath heaving through every spike of pain. She shakes against the wall. “Who are you? Where is he? Where is my Gérard? You caused this, you caused this?”

 

Tracer leans back, shock on her face as hands grab at where she had been just moments before. She presses a finger to her ear, “Mercy I need help, she seems to be breaking through the reconditioning. She’s going mad, I don’t know-”

 

Widowmaker sank back against the wall, fingernails digging into her hair. She pulled and pulled. Where was she? Who- No she didn’t have? Who was this? 

 

“Okay, Amélie?” The brunette’s voice was soft amidst the chaos going on. The babbling of French from the crumpled woman quietened, her tear-stained face staring up. Tracer’s breath caught in her throat, shocked at the blue fading from her face to leave blotchy white and pink. “I’m sorry, Amélie. Doctor’s orders.”

 

The butt of her pistol came down, cracking against Widowmaker’s head. As the world faded, crackly screaming from a transmitter filled the room as Tracer’s voice lulled her out of consciousness. 

  
“Sorry love, I thought you said to keep calm.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Euxiom for noticing the typo!!


	2. Hi Everybody! (Hi Dr Ziegler!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief intermission with our favourite neighbourhood Doctor. 
> 
> No, not Doctor Who you nerds. Dr Ziegler.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter to ease into Tracer narrative, seeing as she is a bit of a contrast from Widowmaker. Don't want anyone getting whiplash.

“Mornin’ love!” Lena chirped as she bounced into the infirmary. The lights flickering on around Mercy. 

 

Mercy, Dr Angela Ziegler, looked up from where she was leant over her staff, a slight smile as Lena placed a steaming cup of coffee on her desk. Lena leant against the glass desk, sipping her own coffee from a mug with a motif on it:  _ #1 Dad!  _ With the one crossed out and replaced with 76 in Sharpie. 

 

Angela turned back to her staff, delicately rewiring it. Her voice filled the room like warm chocolate, warm Swiss chocolate. “I hope it has no sugar this time, Lena.”

 

Lena smirked around her mug before swallowing a big gulp of her own syrup-filled mocha diabetes-inducer. She scoffed, rolling her eyes, “Dr Ziegler! As if  _ I  _ would  _ ever- _ ”

 

Angela hummed, “I’m not a dentist, you know. If I lose my teeth, I will be blaming you.”

 

Lena laughed, throwing her head back and causing Angela to grab her staff out the way. “Well, at least we can be gummy together, eh Doc?” Lena winked. 

 

Angela rolled her eyes with a smile, delicately placing back her work and looking around her desk for the tiny screw that had been there a moment ago. It was silent only a moment before it was too much for Lena.

 

“Why are you fiddlin’ with your stick again, anyhow? We won the battle y’know!”

 

Angela sighed, picking up the screw with tweezers. “I am aware, however it has brought to my attention the need for a few enhancements. An improvement in the range, ensuring I can reach through walls if necessary. For example if someone decides to calm down a patient by  _ knocking them out entirely. _ ” 

 

Angela gave Lena a pointed look, the young woman at least having the grace to look sheepish. Tracer rubbed the back of her head, scruffing up her already scruffy hair. “About that, is she…?”

 

Angela put down her work, the last adjustments could wait. “Her vitals are fine, I have been observing her and while she shows no distress she has yet to wake up. I am unsure if having a slowed heart could affect her healing process… But I could use a rest.” 

 

Angela rolled backwards in her seat, stretching backwards and popping her spine. Poor posture. She stood, patting Lena on the shoulder gently. “Would you mind watching the patient?”

 

Lena looked to one side, uncertain. “Well…”

 

“Seeing as you caused the damage, I’m sure you’d be happy to. You can handle it if she wakes up, yes?” 

 

Angela beamed, Lena sagged in defeat. “Of course, Doc.”

 

“Vollkommen!” Angela grabbed her coffee, taking a sip as she walked towards the door. Her nose crinkled. Sugar. 

 

“I didn’t say thank you!” Lena’s voice followed her. 

 

Angela laughed, turning back as she reached the door. “It means perfect. See you later!” 

 

The door closed.


	3. It's not Unusual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I disappeared off the face of the earth. Really. It's just... Who I am as a person. 
> 
> Lemme know your thoughts on the new chapter eh.

Lena collapsed into one of Angela’s computer chairs, pushing away from the desk with her legs to glide across the floor. After doing a risky hairpin turn into the adjoining corridor (using Angela’s new pot plant. Not that she would ever know) she slowed to a stop to look into the new room Winston had made in the infirmary just for their ‘new patient’. Basically a load of one-way glass around where the solitary confinement area had always been. 

 

Winston had reasoned it would be useful if any agent caught a virus whilst on a mission, Lena guessed that was how he got the funding from the UN. 76 had grumbled it meant they could only capture one Talon agent at a time. Mcree had muttered something about 76 needing to get a room with all those moony-eyes at Reaper. Lena huffed a sigh, leaning forward on the tiny desk Angela had made to observe her patient from. She’d had her bets on 76 winning that fight, but hadn’t even considered Genji’s brother might step in. She really wanted those TV privileges too, she’d never catch up on the new series before Lucio accidentally spoiled it. 

 

Lena’s leg bounced, foot hopping at high speed as she ran out of things to think about. She scowled, properly looking at the woman in the room in front of her. She’d gone back to blue, matching the trim to the sheets Angela had provided. As if she deserved it. 

 

Lena looked down at her watch. It had been five minutes. She scowled, throwing herself back with a loud groan. “This is so BORING!” 

 

“Agent Tracer, would you like me to provide anything”, Athena quickly supplied, her calming voice washing over the brunette currently tugging at her hair. 

 

Lena let her hands flop down by her sides as she sunk lower in the chair, her fingertips just touching the floor. She blew her hair from her eyes. “Thought Angela had gotten rid of all ‘distractions’ in here?”

 

“For herself, yes. But I often provide music or audiobooks for the patients who have to stay here.”

 

Lena sat up a little, “What kind of books ya got access to then?”

 

“Only western romances have been requested thus far, however Winston has allowed us the purchase of more titles if necessary.”

 

Lena snorted, she could guess where all those requests came from. Especially considering how much time the resident cowboy found himself spending in there. She hummed to herself, trying to think. She wasn’t really too up to date on books, she hadn’t really had a way to stay in one time long enough to finish a book. And the spoilers were horrible. She shot up in her chair, grinning brightly.

 

“Oh! I know! That one that Ana and Reinhardt were tellin’ us about! Ooh… Oh darn, I do know the title they told me!” Tracer frowned, muttering to herself. She looked up to the ceiling, arms crossed and lips pouting. The way her nose scrunched made her freckles bunch together. 

 

“I think… It was to do with… Some lady who forgets stuff? So like… It’s her narrating and… Something…”

 

Athena piped up, “Upon scanning my memory cache, I believe it was a novel from the 21st century,  _ Elizabeth is Missing. _ Would you like me to download the title, Agent Tracer?”

 

Lena beamed, shoulders sagging as she sat back further in the chair. “Yeah, cheers love!”

 

“Understood.”

 

*

 

Amélie…. Was…. Am…. Widowmaker couldn’t move. She felt like she was just thinking about something important, but it had slid away like oil on water. She couldn’t quite find it in herself to care. Not being able to move… That wasn’t so unusual, her mind told her. But she couldn’t remember why it would be normal either. Never mind that, what was unusual is she also couldn’t see. She could feel her eyes, she thought. But while she felt like she was trying to open them, nothing was happening. Odd. Her mind was also… Off… Not as sharp as usual. Too… Chatty. Time for quiet.

 

She could hear though. A voice. Not a voice she knew, sounded omnic. It was a soothing voice that rattled within its metallic parameters, reminded her of bubbling water. She hadn’t been reminded of things this often in… Ever. She thinks. What was the voice even talking about? A story, sounds like. A garbled story. But it felt faintly familiar. It made her chest ache, made her feel a little nauseous. Made her feel like not being able to move was now more important, as her body insisted she move. 

 

She managed to turn her head first, only to the side. Apparently she was lying down, she recognised the cool feeling of cotton on her cheek. She tensed herself, trying to pull herself up on her elbows only for her head to spin. She fell back, hardly remembering to breath as the room flip-flopped back to what she hoped was the correct angle. Her eyes cracked open a sliver, causing her to hiss at the flourescent lighting directly above her. Her head flopped back to the side, allowing her eyes to adjust to the room. 

 

The room stopped swaying as a pressure set into her skull, her eyes opening wider to take in her surroundings. Nothing. Only a white bed with blue trim, and her reflection staring back at her. She could see the scowl, and a couple stitches below her lip. Her eyes had a darker blue and purple around them, heavily bruised. Not unusual, her brain supplied again. The story is unusual though. She looked around the brightly lit, sparse area. It smelt acrid, too clean. She rolled on her side, eyes rolling closed. It smelt like where she belonged. 

 

*


End file.
